


Snow and coffee in Gamla Stan (Stockholm)

by OnButterflyWings



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Cyberpunk, Near Future, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 22:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13374681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnButterflyWings/pseuds/OnButterflyWings
Summary: Two old friends meet in a cafe in Gamla Stan.





	Snow and coffee in Gamla Stan (Stockholm)

I was trudging through the snow, with my hood up. Hands in my pockets, shoulders up. The surrounding buildings once thought to be from the 16th and 17th century up until the 21st century, were now considered now more from the 14th and 15th centuries. My secondary infosystem kicking into overdrive with snippets about arguments and archeology. I shut out those whispers in the dark. 

The snow kept powdering down between the looming buildings, darkness of January interspersed with people walking past me, eyeing me with strange distaste. I just pulled my hood lower, a very pre-infowar habit considering that we constantly radiated data bands to our surroundings, interfacing the local area broadcasts of the next person. 

Sweden is one of the more private countries, but shutting down myself from the whole net would be impossible. For example me finding the cafe I am going to without AR input would involve printing out instructions, and the dead reckoning functionality would just fail with the narrow medieval streets. 

I got to one of the old squares. As the AR predicted, the cafe was there with the lights on. Already I could see the menu of what they have and that they will be open for another 45 minutes. I pulled my hands out of my pockets, pushed my hood down and gave myself a shake like an old dog. When you’ve lived in a cold country you get to know all the nice habits to keep from tracking in snow. 

For snow when melted, become puddles and puddles attract dirt, and I wouldn’t want to be more of a mess than I am. Fingers ran through my long dreadlocked hair self consciously. I had to be careful because if I pulled too hard, it would be awkward. 

I walked past the augmented area, the modern near field connectors have already replaced the old manual data and power jacks. Most were too engrossed in their beverages and info systems to give me more than the usual shrugging AR scan. The current augments were near 90% real, with the promise that in another 20 years you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between humans and augments. That was all marketing nonsense, I could still tell even with the really high end ones. 

The bar loomed up, and switched over to my Swedish translator, even after 5 years of living here, I could barely get by with Swedish without the translator so I just switched to it most of the time. Death of a language. 

“Hi, can I get a cappuccino and a piece of pound cake please?” I asked the bored barista. She was busy being plugged into the netscape and looked at me strangely. I guess I was one of the first customers to actually come up and talk to her today. Her system kept trying to find social connections and likes we had in common, and when it didn't it just spewed up everything. I picked up her name as Sofia, single, bisexual, long list of like tags including augments. Studying biocybernetics and the University of Stockholm. Recommendations for books and articles she has recently read that I should read - mostly the 20 something anarchistic non-sense and self-empowerment screed. She was hooked into 3 dozen social media accounts, including post-retrowave 80s cyberpunk music. Linked to going out with a group of friends in 2 hours to an underground party, but still marked as unsure. There’s more, but the infodump would be only interesting to the most extreme navel lint gatherers or professional stalkers.

“Hi. Yes of course.” She looked at me strangely. She pinged me for best language to speak in. My own personal bio automatically came up with English. 

She made me a cappuccino from the expensive Italian set, pulled out a slice of pound cake, and placed them on the counter. “That will be 37 kronor. Sir.” Came the sound. The halting sing song way she said it meant that it had come through her translation app. My mouth twitched.

AR functionality with the request from the cafe already flickered in front of me. I picked my bank HansaBank and ran the charge through it. The receipt said 40 with my automatic 3 kronor senior discount.

There was this bubble of confusion before she continued. “I’m afraid sir we don’t serve augments like you.” 

“I’m sorry?” I threw her a universal query of mis-match of contextual data. Several hundred of her likes such as augument rights group, senior citizens, all were pinged red. Social media bots had triggered of a potential slur, conviction rates were lower with her now. Her eyes went back and forth as she did possible social media damage control.

“Oh, I mean we don’t have the old data connectors anymore. Your model is old, and our complimentary adapter chair broke 4 months 5 days, 3 hours ago. I hope that’s alright.”

I picked up, the saucer for the coffee and plate for the pastry. “I’m not here for the adapter chair, but thank you.” I added more firmness at the end than I should have. 

I could see her eyes flickering through the data, trying to correct a possible faux pas and a possible demerit badge. “I like your hair, it’s very pink.” Second hesitation, as she requested for the first body positive, right age specific compliment, “Very anime.”

“Thank you. It’s a custom job.” Demerit badge flickered for a bit in her work AR, before disappearing. I hand’t noticed but everyone was paying attention to us for the cafe while it had six people in it, would have otherwise been dead silent. 

I found a seat among the two other non-augments who were sitting alone. I picked up the spoon. Flesh colored smart rubber covered strongly mechanical hands. The rubber had nicks and marks in it from long use, and the darkness of rubber when it gets too old. Steel pad sensors still gave me all the sensory of perception of real hands, although sometimes I would get phantom pain, and ghost perceptions. 

I waited 14 minutes until my associate showed up. He had a receding hair line and liver spots. He was bundled in his large winter coat as he came over and sat down. I pushed the pound cake over to him. I said, “Hej Tomas.” 

Tomas shrugged out of his coat and looked at the barista shouting across the cafe in rapid fire Swedish. “I’ll have a black coffee with cream on the side, and I’ll take a piece of coffee cake.” He ran his tongue over his teeth before continuing, “It’s also rude to stare.” 

Tomas, sweet Tomas looked at me with his recently repaired eyes. He coughed politely before taking a napkin. “You’re looking well Karl.” he said in English, his Swedish accent coming across a bit thick, but not that bad. 

“Well, the body is showing it’s dings and scratches though.” 

Karl laughed in the way where the laugh gets trapped in the mouth, seeking escape before being swallowed. 

“You should upgrade to a new one. I hear that you can do that.” 

I shook my head, “My monthly check ups say I’ve become fused with this body. There wanting to run further tests at the university hospital, but I think that’s more of to make them happy than me, to show they’ve done everything possible.” 

Tomas changed tack, “It’s been 20 years since we really spoken last.” 

I countered by saying, “Well, we are still surviving.” 

“Oh yes, although the cancer in me is going to kill me eventually.” 

I smiled at that, the connection of old people with old people problems. 

“Although, when you chose this body I was a bit surprised all those years ago, I still think of you as being this big man, and not some teenage girl with her bright pink hair.” 

I shrugged, “Well, I’d lie and say it was purely by accident, I like being smaller and more petite.” 

Tomas said, “Still it must be uncomfortable, especially as AR is more intrusive than it was before. Have you thought about finally becoming a Swedish citizen?”

I smiled, “I’m currently going through the application process. I have to live here for another two years and then I can apply. Also the New Republic are refusing to release my data to transfer to the Swedish authorities.”

I said, “Hey do you remember when we were in Africa and you taught me all these Swedish phrases like ‘jag älskar dig. ‘ 

Tomas drank his coffee and ate his cake as we talked. My cappuccino became crusty and my pound cake was broken in pieces and lay across the plate, crumbs sticking to my fingers. Everyone except the barista had left five minutes ago. 

The Barista Sofia addressed Tomas in Swedish, “I’m sorry we’re closing in 10 minutes.” 

Tomas carefully moved his coffee and plate to the side further away from the barista. “We’re leaving anyways. Come Karl.”

I picked up my jacket, looked back at the barista, thinking about what hand signal to give her, before shrugging and leaving.

We stood in the middle of the courtyard for a moment looking at each other before I went all on tip-toe, giving him a hug. The hug lasted a long time. “You’re making an old man like me feel a little uncomfortable.”

“Then that makes us two” I said, whispering in his ear.

We broke off, “Keep in touch Karl.”

“Of course” I said as I put on my jacket, pulled up my hood, we waved and made sure to walk in the opposite directions. 

Snow was still falling across an empty sky lit with an AR glow.


End file.
